


at heart

by nezstorm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Dark Stiles, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Manipulation, Nogitsune Effects, Nogitsune Trauma, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 22:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13774215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/pseuds/nezstorm
Summary: There's an echo in his head.





	at heart

There’s an echo in his head. 

 

It’s familiar, something he grew strangely accustomed to while never getting used to at all. It’s a whisper of a presence that lingered in his mind for weeks until it was ripped from him. 

 

Regurgitated, shattered, broken. 

 

Yet it’s still there, a shadow of the overpowering entity, but there. 

 

_ Where el _ s _ e would we be? _

 

It’s laughable, really: Scott, the whole pack, thinking that they can destroy a thousand year old demon with a werewolf bite and a sword piercing through. That they can just lock him away in a box.  

 

Centuries of chaos, of a power so sublime it’s almost raw. That’s not something you can just trap and put away. 

 

He’s still there. Weakened, yes, but still tethered to Stiles. A parasite in his brain.

 

_ That’s a bit harsh, Stiles. We’d rather call it  _ **cohabitation** .

 

\--- 

  
  


_ You deserve so much more. _

 

He hears after Scott tells him he can’t hang out that day because Deaton needs him at the clinic. It’s the third time this week, seventh in a fortnight. He wonders if he should stop counting, if he should even bother to ask. Scott is always needed somewhere these days.

 

_ They do not see you for what you are. _

 

He’s told when Derek brushes another of his suggestions off, storms out with a half cooked plan instead of listening to what Stiles had to say. He wonders why the werewolf even bothers to ask him if he always decides to do things his way in the end. Rushes forward, leaves him behind.

 

_ They see a broken boy. A loud mouth, a sharp mind. But human. Weak.  _

 

Come the whispers after he’s told to stay behind yet again. After Scott squeezed his shoulder, Kira shot him a reassuring smile, Malia shot off with barely a wave. Even Lydia, who should know exactly how this feels, just pats his hands and follows the rest of the pack out, going off to save the day again. 

 

_ Look at them. They always leave you behind, forgotten and hurt. _

 

The words appear when he shuts his eyes, listens to the rustle of clothes, the sound of zipper pulled up, the shuffling of shoes. He knows the way Peter watches him without looking at the wolf, knows the taste of that self-satisfied smirk. He’s seen those bright blue eyes shine with triumph so many times, every single time he’s kicked out or left behind to clean up and put himself back together again.

 

_ We were there. We were there, but they took us away. _

 

He’s reminded. The images forced on him, recalled. Being torn in two, ripped to four, shattered into little pieces that would never fit the same.

 

_ You would have had it all, Stiles. We would give you everything. _

 

Remembers how exhilarating it felt to see all the pieces fall into place. The world around them in chaos and panic. 

 

_ We could offer you power. _

 

Remembers how fun it was to set up all the traps, construct all those plans. How it felt to twisttwisttwist the blade in Scott’s gut. How near orgasmic his pain tasted when they fed. 

 

_ We could give you control. _

 

Remembers how powerful he felt, how energy thrummed vicious and vile in his veins, how it begged  _ please please please _ to be let out. Unleashed. How easily he could reign it all in. 

 

(but it wasn’t him)

 

_ We would be a companion. _

 

His reflection tells him after another sleepless night, another lonely evening, another occasion when he was forgotten, discarded, left behind. 

 

_ You’d never be alone again, Stiles. We’d make you belong. _

  
  


_ \--- _

  
  


They don’t deserve him. He could be so much more, but they don’t let him. 

 

He needs no permission, no approval, no yes. All he needs is the power he has, the power he could have, the power he will receive.

 

All he needs is a little bit of strife. A bit of havoc.

 

Maybe some pain.

  
  


\---

  
  


The whispers continue, the promises far from empty as he falls deeper into the darkness.

 

Void.

 

He shows Stiles how powerful they are, how useful the Nemeton can be, how rich and dark blood tastes, how anger feels released.

 

Shows him how much joy there is in destruction, how satisfying it is to watch it all burn and they set things into motion. 

 

It’s disturbingly easy to play the game.

 

All he has to do is offer a bit of advice to Scott, an offhand comment to Kira, an idea whispered to Lydia or Peter. Little things that might be good now, but will rip them at the seams in the long run. 

 

They overlooked him for so long that they fail to see what he has become.

 

What he is.

 

And he is strong, has always been so. There’s raw power in him, an old kind of magic. All he needs is to open the door.

  
  


\---

  
  


He feels a breeze on his skin like a touch, his reflection looks a bit different. Darker and paler both. Pulled taut. Waiting to explode.

 

It’s him and it’s not because Void can't take on a form of his own just yet. Scott has weakened him and Void needs Stiles to be strong to come back. Needs him to need. 

And while they play with Stiles' old friends, fucking up their lives in increments, Stiles has his hands elbows deep in blood and he grows more powerful with each day.

  
  


\---

  
  


Until the day that it’s too late and Scott finally takes notice. 

 

He follows Stiles around, -- Stiles can feel him, he can feel them all these days, keep track, -- and racks Stiles deep into the preserve, all the way to the Nemeton.

 

Stiles nearly breaks his act and laughs when he hears Scott balks at the heavy stench of blood and decay surrounding the stump, permanenting the place.

 

He lets Scott watch because this is a performance just for him. Lets the werewolf see Stiles crouched over a body. Lets him see how he opens the chest of the man beneath him with just his fingers.

 

Laughs when Scott can't pull him away fast enough.

 

Scott asks, of course he does.

 

“What's going on, what is this, Stiles? What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing?!”

 

And Stiles just laugh and laughs because Void was right, Scott never even noticed until now.

 

And then he stops, smiles wide at Scott but it's an eerie kind of smile, nothing like Scott has ever seen from him before. 

 

He moves so fast that the werewolf doesn't even have time to blink, doesn't realize that Stiles has his hand  _ in  _ Scott's chest until Stiles starts pulling an he screams. He screams and suddenly just stops.

 

Just drops to the ground as Stiles pulls out the heart of a True Alpha, a pure heart, perfect for the final step.

 

He takes it to the Nemeton, kicks of the body he no longer needs, never really needed, and sits in the middle of the stump.

 

He takes the heart in both hands, raises into the air muttering softly until the air around him buzzes with the sound of his voice. The trees surrounding the clearing swaying as wind picks up, swirling the leaves around the Nemeton, around Stiles.

He lowers the heart, focuses inwards calling for the voice that accompanied him for months now and finally he bites.

 

The wind stops. All sound dies. And power streams from the Tree to the ground and outwards into the Preserve like a wave.

 

Stiles feels as his body fills with warmth, magic surging through him and burning him up. He feels elated, light, ready to make the world kneel before him.

 

But when he opens his eyes he is alone. 

 

When he listens his head is clear and barren of that familiar, dark voice.

 

He is powerful, he can have it all, steal it all, destroy it all.

 

But he is alone.

 

He is finally whole, pieced together from the scrapes they left him in. He is how he should have been and he is so much more.

 

But the voice, the sweet murmur that told him how to achieve it all is gone, because it was never really there.

 

Scott's lifeless eyes stare at him as he stands tall on the stump, alone.

 

He has all he needed and he has nothing at all.

  
  


\---

  
  


There was an echo in his head.

 

He listened to it.

 

Now it’s dead. 


End file.
